Burn
by Kem'Ajiana
Summary: 'Even after the dust had settled over what had once simply been known as District Thirteen, the capitol still wanted penance...recognized by the blood of twenty-three innocent children every year. Starting now.' Levi takes the stage as the first-ever District Four tribute. Open poll for character deaths/rankings. Rating subject to change.
1. Prologue

_**Burn**_

_By: Kem'Ajiana_

* * *

Summary: _Levi Everett hadn't seen it coming. Her family were loyal to the Capitol – so why was _she_ the one being _reaped_ for the sick joke that was the first ever Hunger Games?_

* * *

**The Tributes (in District order):**

_1- Mani Julius;__ Opal Armen_

_2- Alan Johnson; __Lorelei Smith_

_3- Kavi Emerson; __Maiara Brown_

_4- Kelvin Howard;_**_ Levi Everett_**

_5- Cenric Brake; __Li Fuhara_

_6- Hector Algait;__ Jolie Bull_

_7- Plato Rutledge;__ Elif Wills_

_8- George Brooks;__ Emmeline Anderson_

_9- Gerald Moore;__ Grainne Davis_

_10- Shaw Taylor;__ Leanne Scott_

_11- Kusuma Wright;__ Fleur Hayes_

_12- Joash Powell;__ Azar Griffin_

* * *

**Prologue:**

_There was no time in _my life that I had ever imagined it would come to this: watching as a man in faddish red-and-white clothing and a vibrant purple hairstyle stood center-stage, waving his hand dramatically over a fishbowl filled with the names of all of District Four's twelve-to-eighteen year olds. Never had I imagined that, when he carried that damning slip of folded paper to read aloud, would _my_ _name _be on it. Hadn't my family, so loyal and subservient to the pompous Capitol rats, been through enough in recent years?

And yet, there I was.

Even after the dust had settled over what was once known simply as 'District Thirteen', the Capitol still wanted penance. And that penance would be recognized by the blood of twenty-three innocent children every year. Starting now.

A cold hand on my back was the only warning I had before I was forced forward with a hiss. Then there was a scream of terror that I recognized as my mother's voice and the cry of an eight year old boy – Adriann, my brother. The man on stage, Glass, motioned for me impatiently, and, though I hesitated at the stairs to the Justice Building, I was standing to his left all too soon. The process repeated, and a male name was drawn, one that I recognized, but did not personally know: _Kelvin Howard_. A boy with slicked-back brown hair and a faraway gaze, a stick-thin figure and two years my junior, I knew that he would not make it out of the _games_. He joined me on stage, but to Glass' right, and the so-called 'escort' began what was supposed to be a short and to-the-point motivating speech, but morphed, instead, into a long-winded, drawn-out rant.

"These are great times for all of Panem," he ended in a flourish. "The wars have ended the Dark Days, and the Capitol has created a wonderful new spectator-sport in which, each year, two tributes are given the chance to bring a great honor upon their individual district! True, many will lose, but the winner will be showered with riches upon riches! Don't you think that's lovely, District Four?"

When there was no response, Glass sighed and waved a hand to the four Peacekeepers standing at the back of the stage. "No time to waste, then. Will the families and closest friends of these two Tributes please make your way to the back of the Justice Building?"

Shock began to make way for anguish as the door to a private room shut firmly behind me, and my legs quaked with fear. What was I to do? What _could_ I do? A moment later, three figures rushed forward to envelop me in a tight hug – my mother, father, and Adriann had come to give their final goodbyes.

"My baby, my beautiful baby girl," wept Anna, my mother, as she stroked back my hair.

Adriann hugged my leg fiercely, not wanting to let go. "I don't want you to leave us, Levi. Can't you stay?"

Poor, poor little Adriann. So young – too young – to realize what was about to occur. Would he be forced to watch the games as well? I prayed not.

Semyone, my father, stood back with tears flowing freely; he brushed them away with the backs of his broad hands. "Come back to us, Levi. Do you hear me? Adriann needs his big sister, and Aby would want you to survive. Come back." His big green eyes, so striking as compared to his black hair and so much like mine, stared hard at me, brimming with tears.

For a moment, I could only stand there, then the words flowed from my mouth freely. "I will try, father, but the chances of me...coming home...they're so few. Who knows what the games might introduce?" I took a deep, calming breath before I continued. "If I don't make it back, please make sure that Adriann remembers me."

My family and I hadn't realized how long we'd spent with one another until the door flew open and a rather large, burly Peacekeeper grabbed my parents by the shoulders, forcing them from the room. Left alone, I was reduced to a sobbing, red-haired, green-eyed seventeen year old girl, and let out a strangled cry before, surprisingly, a man just a slight bit older than I was shoved into the room.

"Three minutes," growled the Peacekeeper.

"River," I cried out, flinging my arms around the man's neck. I peppered his face with sporadic kisses, his arms around my waist as he held me in his strong, thick, familiar arms. "Oh, River. I don't want to leave. I don't want to _die._"

He shook his head, pressing his forehead to mine. "You won't, Levi. You'll come back to me. I promise. And we'll get married and live happily ever after. Right?" His voice shook with unspoken terror. I sobbed harder, tucking my head into his chest.

"Tell me about it," I paused. "Please, River."

We sank to the ground, River sheltering me in his steady arms as he stroked back my red hair, some of the strands catching in the stubble on his chin. "The day you come back, I'll take you to the beach. You'll be too happy to see home to realize that I've gotten down on one knee. I'll ask you to marry me – you'll say yes, of course – and we'll marry that same month. Our life will be so blissful, just the two of us, but, then, we'll have our first child. A girl maybe, and we'll name her Abigail – after your sister – and a boy after. We'll be so happy, Levi. We'll grow old together, surrounded by our families." He paused. "What do you think?"

My tears had subsided and I reached up to cup his chin. "Make me a promise, River. Just one," I whispered solemnly.

River's blue eyes met my green steadily, and he nodded his consent. "Just one. Then you have to make me one."

"Deal." I paused. "Promise me...that you'll find someone else...if I don't come out of the games. That you'll be happy."

He didn't respond at first to my cracked demand. "That's two, Levi. I can't do both of those things; you know that." A stray tear slid down my face, and he reached his thumb to brush it away. "But I can promise that I'll do my best to be happy. Is that okay?"

I smiled, lips trembling, and he ducked his head to kiss my lips. "I love you, River."

"Hey, now," he tried to joke. "none of that. This isn't goodbye, Levi Everett."

So many unspoken words passed between us, and I did not want to move from his embrace, but the choice was made for us when the burly Peacekeeper returned to wrench River off the ground and out of my arms.

"Wait," I cried, reaching for his retreating figure vainly. "What did you want me to promise you?"

Just as the door closed, his lips turned up in a final smile. "I love you, Levi! Don't forget that!"

With a final, resounding boom, the giant oak door slammed shut, leaving me to collapse to the ground in a sobbing mess. Pressing my forehead to the carpeted floor, I prayed that that was not the final time I would see those I loved. Another sob tore from my throat, and, with a sudden realization, I wondered, '_how did I get here_?'

* * *

**Author's Note:** _I cannot say that I'm not an avid reader and writer of __The Hunger Games__ fanfiction. I can say, however, that this is my first-ever uploaded fanfiction. Obviously, it centers around the character of Levi Everett (named after the Attack on Titan character - teehee). The rating is subject to change, thanks to the more __**adult**__ romantic relations between River and Levi. Also, for those of you interested, I'd like to see if any of you have characters you'd like to have make an appearance. No Tributes, or Victors (of course) - I already have those picked out (see above) - but maybe some Capitol citizens and mentors? I'll have a poll going in a few days, as the story progresses and we are introduced to more characters, about who dies first. It won't be public, but secretive. I'm so horrible. So stay tuned!_

***Edit:** _Writing style changed to first-person instead of third._

_Thanks for reading! Adieu! ~Kem._


	2. Chapter One

_**Burn**_

_By: Kem'Ajiana_

* * *

Summary: _Levi Everett hadn't seen it coming. Her family were loyal to the Capitol – so why was _she_ the one being _reaped_ for the sick joke that was the first ever Hunger Games?_

* * *

**Chapter One: _Mentors and Their Tributes_**

_The crickets were chirping. The sea was churning. Birds flitted about carelessly. _

_How the hell was life still going about as I awaited my untimely, maybe bloody, and probably painful death?_

I don't know how long I lay there, with my face pressed against the dirty and faded carpet, until Glass came and fetched me, but it mustn't have been long after my family and River had left me, because I could still hear the muffled sounds of sobbing in the distance. The strings of curses that flowed from some woman's mouth. The faint thumpings of someone's fist on the floor as they cursed life, death, and Panem.

Or, was that _me_?

"Let's go, girl. Get up," hissed the ridiculously _purple-haired_ man as he waved his _perfectly manicured_ hand at me. "We haven't got any time to waste."

For a moment, I stared at him dumbfoundedly, still curled up in a ball on the floor, my eyes blank. _Time to_ waste? _There was no time _left _at_ all. Body numb from shock and fear and loss, all at once, I rose to my feet, stumbling a bit when my head swam and the room spun around me. I thought I would faint until, suddenly, a hand on my shoulder steadied me. I looked back to see the face of the other boy - Kelvin - and I tried to give him a small smile. I think it came out as more of a grimace, however, since his hand dropped back to his side to dangle uselessly.

Another shove, another couple of doors, and another annoying Peacekeeper later, I boarded a silver bus with Kelvin just behind me and Glass muttering incessantly beneath his breath about how happy he'd be leaving this "fish-ridden town of thankless inbreeds." I bristled at his comments, but bit my tongue and pretended not to hear him; it wouldn't do me any good to pick a fight with a man who had the whole of the Capitol on his side, and the last thing I wanted to do was die before I reached...

Reached what, exactly?

This hadn't exactly ever been done before. Sure, the basics had been explained to us: an arena of unknown proportions and climate, twenty four contestants, one survivor. Other than that, what was to be expected? To me - to _most _of Panem - it was an arena that promised only bloodshed and death. I'd seen war before, all of Panem had at some point in the past five years, but, in war, there was generally a good side and a bad side. This...this just seemed like a slaughterhouse to cull any resistance the remaining twelve Districts might harbor.

And I was just a pawn in the grand scheme of things.

_How did this happen to me?_

The bus ride was short, as the Justice Building (and the heart of what remained of District Four) was positioned nearest the train station than any other building. Save, of course, the boat docks; they had direct access to the station for immediate transportation of our goods. As we drove along the bumpy, torn-up road, I watched the shoreline pass by, almost like it wasn't moving at all.

I loved the sea - it was my home - and I had braved them alongside my father from the day I turned fourteen. I had been sixteen when I met River, working on the same old rickety raft as my father and I. He'd just turned eighteen, with a sickly younger sister - Brook - to care for, and had been taken under my father's wing to learn the ways of the ocean. I learned later on that his mother and father had died in the wars, just as my sister had.

_Abigail._ I fingered the string of aqua-colored beads that I wore braided into my hair. They'd been her's, before the war, but she had given them to me when I was hardly ten; a token. A promise that she would return home safely.

A _broken_ promise.

She was twenty when she died, and engaged to marry a man of power in our District. They both died in the fire bombings of District Thirteen. I began working with my father after that.

A woman and a man were introduced to myself and Kelvin once we boarded the long silver bullet train that would take us to our death sentences. They were fairly ordinary-looking: both a dark tan, with average brown hair and eyes, and both of medium build. Their names were Barker and Dart, and both, I learned later on, were prisoners of war.

"These two are here to aid you in the Games," Glass began. "They will help you win sponsors, train, and gain allies while you are in the arena. Both of them hold your tiny little lives in the palms of their hands, so I suggest listening to every word they utter while you are in their company." With a jerk of his broad chin, Glass flitted off, looking every bit a peacock in his getup.

I looked to Dart, the female, and assessed her. Her eyes were dark, haunted, like the eyes of person who knew death well, flirted with him, and, I supposed, she had. Hadn't we all at some point during the wars? "What's a sponsor?" I heard myself ask. The better I knew going in, the more likely I would come out again.

Dart sat on a cushioned chair, Barker settling beside her, and Kelvin and I took the hint to sit, too. "A sponsor," Barker began in his gruff voice, "is someone who will pay to see you live for another day. They can provide medicine, tools, food, anything. In your darkest hours, it is up to us to make sure those people provide for whatever you need to survive."

"I'm sure it will be a difficult task," Dart continued, "but if it means one of you will make it out alive, I will do whatever it takes." In a lower voice, she added: "_The rebellion cannot die with our children._"

Kelvin nodded his head, grasping all of this a little more easily than I. Maybe he might stand a chance in the games after all. "So, what does that make you two? Sponsors, too? Or are you just here to make sure we don't kill ourselves before we get to the arena?" Smart kid - I hadn't thought of that.

Again, the two shared a glance. "Consider us your..._guides_. We teach you the basics - how to walk, how to talk, and how to impress the Capitolites - but, when you're in the arena, we will not be able to offer you anything more. Yes. Consider us your guardian angels, for the time being."

I choked back a humorless laugh. "Aren't guardian angels supposed to _protect us_?" I asked. "All your doing, it seems to me, is fattening us and arming us as best you can before throwing us to the wolves - maybe literally."

Barker, the more friendly-seeming of the two self proclaimed 'guardian angels', shrugged his shoulder indifferently. "Whether you come out alive or not is entirely up to you. If you have any skill-set whatsoever, however, you have a higher chance of getting out breathing, instead of a body bag."

Tension ran thickly in the space between Tributes and...whatever they were. Guardian Angels? -_ I think not_.

Mentors? _That's it_, I decided. "I think I have a better name for your...job."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"You're not 'Guardian Angels' by anyone's standards. And, if you are, then they have pretty poor standards."

They shared a grimace, as if the insult stung their egos a bit. Dart leaned forward on her elbows a bit, looking intrigued despite herself. "You're a cynical one, aren't you?"

I shrugged. "So I've been told."

Another tense moment passed.

"Mentors," I announced. "You're our _Mentors_."

* * *

**Author's Note: **_And, so, we meet Barker and Dart - the first-ever Mentors of District Four. Stay tuned for more!_


	3. Chapter Two

_**Burn**_

_By: Kem'Ajiana_

* * *

Summary: _Levi Everett hadn't seen it coming. Her family were loyal to the Capitol – so why was _she_ the one being _reaped_ for the sick joke that was the first ever Hunger Games?_

* * *

**Chapter Two: _Talk of Enemies and Allies_**

_"-And these are the tributes_ of District six: Hector Algait and Jolie Bull."

Dawn found Kelvin and I seated before Dart and Barker as they ran through the long list of District Tributes: the ones we needed to look out for, the ones that might be easy pickings, the ones to ally ourselves with, and the ones to absolutely steer clear of. So far, since there was no telling what the Games might have in store for us, most of said tributes fell into the 'look out for' category. _Most_ of the tributes.

"Algait has had his fair share of battles in his life," Barker continued as he clicked to a brief video of a boy with pale brown hair sneering at the cameras. "He's been raised by his uncle his entire life, or so I'm told, and he's been in and out of jail more times than I have fingers." He clicked to the next slide, a picture of a young girl - hardly fourteen - with a mess of blonde hair as tears rolled down her face. "Now, Bull...well, she'll hardly make it past the initial Bloodbath."

"Bloodbath?" I interrupted, concerned. A _bloodbath_ didn't sound fun on a good day, much less in a fight to the death.

Dart nodded her head. "Yes. We'll get into that later. In short, it's the initial fighting at the start of the games." I nodded my head dumbly. Oh, right...how _stupid_ of me.

Another slide showed a boy with a softer face, kinder eyes, and a bulky physique. "This is the Plato Rutledge. He's got a soft spot for his female counterpart, Elif-" another slide "-or so I'm told." The girl _was_ small, and had an innocence about her that seemed...off. Someone like that didn't belong in these sort of games.

"District eight's tributes, as well as nine's, are likely to pair up together in the beginning. Of course, they won't stay together until the very end; I'd wager they'd be likely to split when the tributes get down to three or four individuals," Barker nodded his head sagely at Dart, as if he knew exactly how this would pan out in the arena.

Kelvin waved his hand in the air. "So, the real question is: who _exactly _do we need to be wary of the most? We can avoid the rest, or kill them if need be, but who are the ones that will likely prove the most...difficult?"

Dart pointed to the screen, bringing up headshots of nine tributes: both from One and Two, Cenric Brake of Five, Hector Algait and Plato Rutledge from Six and Seven, and both of the from Nine. The youngest was Algait, surprisingly, at only fifteen, and the eldest was One's female Tribute, Opal Armen, at eighteen. I rocked back on my heels, eyeing the nine tributes with a look of loathing, before I turned to Dart and asked, solemnly, "And where do you suppose _we_ place on the scoreboard?"

Barker shrugged. "We won't know until you present your chosen skillset to the judges, after the Tribute Parade. The scores will be broadcasted and alliances will be struck."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? A parade, you say?" It seemed morbid to me, a parade, like dressing up a pig or a cow and showing it off before you took it to slaughter.

Dart rolled her eyes. "Yes. It is the first time the Capitolites get to see you, besides the day of the Reapings, so an impression is greatly important." She took a breath before she lauched onwards.

"This is how this whole thing is going to work, so listen up you two. When we get off the train, we'll be escorted to the hotel we'll be staying out of until the games. We're fourth floor - like your District - and the basement is the training area. You'll be expected to train whenever possible if you want any chance of perusing the other tributes. It'll also be a good time to decide on any allies you might want when you get into the arena, and deciding who are the strongest or weakest ones of the bunch. There will be coaches, as well, to instruct you in whatever you might be weak in.

"Tomorrow, bright and early, you have an appointment with your individual prep-teams and sylists."

"Prep teams? _Stylists?"_

Barker nodded. "They're going to to make you...more presentable, and your stylist will design the clothing you will wear for the Tribute Parade and Tribute Interviews." He waited a moment for any questions before turning back to Dart and allowing her to continue.

"In a few days, the parade will be held, and you will need to make as much of an impression, as I said before, as possible. The final step is the interview, the day before the games. Bruce Applesmith will quiz you on whatever he deems necesary: your health, your home, your family, your past relationships - anything to make you look desireable to the sponsors in the crowd. After that...it's the arena."

Kelvin and I both seemed to straighten up a bit at that. "What happens then? What can we expect?" Kelvin whispered hoarsely.

Our Mentor held up a tiny cylindrical object, tiny in the palm of his hand. "This is the cornucopia. It will be in the center of the arena, and, around it in a perfect circle, there will be twenty four pressurized plates. Each tribute will have their own plate - a starting point - beside their second District counterpart and another tribute, and a clock will count off the last ten seconds. If you step off that plate before the cannon sounds, well...you'll be blown to bits.

"The initial Bloodbath, so it's been nicknamed, like I said earlier, is what initiates the games. The cornucopia will have all the supplies you could ever ask for: weapons, medicines, food...if you can ask for it, it'll be there. As soon as the cannon sounds, most of the tributes will make a beeline for the cornucopia, of course, and it will signify the true start of the games. Every cannon that sounds after the initial one will mean another tribute is out of the running. Each night, they will broadcast their faces in the sky for you all to see. After that...I don't believe that I have anything else that'll be really helpful in the arena. From there on out, it's all up to you and your sponsors. That's why it's so important to make an impression during the parade and the interviews." Dart paused, sucking in a deep breath. "Any questions?"

I swallowed a painful lump in my throat. "What if...we _don't _make an impression? On _anybody_?"

Barker shrugged. "Then that's where Dart and I come into play. Every moment of the events - including inside of the arena - will be televised, of course. As long as you make blood flowe, we'll get you sponsors, even if we have to _kill_ to do it."

"Ooh," Dart squealed, the first girlish thing I'd seen or heard her do since I'd met her, "that sounds absolutely _wonderful_!"

* * *

**Author's Note: **_And, so, ladies and gents, the rules of the game have been explained for our first District Four tributes! Next chapter: _The Training Arena! _In the words of Effie Trinket: "Ooh, I just love that!"_


	4. Chapter Three

_**Burn**_

_By: Kem'Ajiana_

* * *

Summary: _Levi Everett hadn't seen it coming. Her family were loyal to the Capitol – so why was _she_ the one being _reaped_ for the sick joke that was the first ever Hunger Games?_

* * *

**Chapter Three: _Target on My Back_**

_I can't say that my _fear had completely _faded_ at the very-real prospect of my dying in the Hunger Games, but it had been quickly replaced by an overwhelming sense of something akin to pride. I would win this game; not for me - oh no, I couldn't _dream _of killing someone for my own selfish advancement - but for my District, my mother, father, brother, and my dearly beloved sister who had died too soon. I would prove that, even though the Capitol and Panem's sickly-twisted President wanted children to die for their own amusement, we were anything but pieces in this macabre puzzle.

But, then I thought of all those other children. Of Kelvin, and the look he'd had on his own face when his name had been reaped that day. Of angelic Elif in Seven, and the haunted boy - Hector - in Six. The crippled boy, Joash Powell, and the twelve year old girl, the youngest in the games, Azar Griffin, of Twelve?

What about him? _Them_? Who was going to remember them at the end of the day?

Their families, of course, and their friends, and, maybe, the Victor that went home in the end. But to everyone else, they were just going to be a face replaced year after year after year. How many _children_ were going to _die_ for the amusement of others? Even after the idea of rebellion faded, these games would continue, and more and more families would be left grieving over their sons and daughters. The Games would eventually become just another part of life...and then what? Would the Capitol come up with some other form of horrendous torture for the Districts of Panem?

Shaking my head free of these thoughts, I rode with Dart down to the basement of the training center, our _hotel_, where the gymnasium was. A Peacekeeper stood guard solemnly, arms crossed and eyes steeled as he watched the two of us pass. Kelvin was still in bed, having said something about a 'horrible stomach ache', although, as grim as my thoughts may be, I thought he'd come to the realization that he would not be coming out of the games.

The gym was huge, spacious, with weapons racks and training stations in every available space. Experts meandered about, instructing the other tributes in whatever they were learning and guiding their motions if they didn't get the hang of it the first time. A large trident caught my eye, and I sauntered over.

I ran my fingers over it, from end-to-end, reveling in the familiarity, though it lacked the tines in the prongs like the ones back home we used for fishing. It was silver, and at least a foot taller than I was, but a light-enough weight that I could easily raise it above my head. The metal gleamed, perfectly polished and sharpened, and I aimed at a man-shaped target ahead of me. It flew true, sinking as deep as the hilt into the chest of the mannequin, and I grinned happily, leaping for joy on the inside. When I pried it free of the mannequin and turned, however, I was unprepared for the scowls that stared back at me.

In one corner, near the swords, I recognized the two blondes from District Two - Alan Johnson and Lorelei Smith - and, just to the right, kneeling over a snare with their trainer, both of District Eight's tributes grimaced. I shrugged at them, swinging my weapon possessively over my right shoulder.

"What?" I snapped harshly, refusing to back down from their accusing glares. "Apparently you've never seen anyone thrown a _trident_ before."

The girl from Nine just rolled her eyes at me, elbowing her district partner and returning to their assigned task. The others followed suit, and I returned my trident to its place on the weapons rack. Dart motioned for me to join her where a line of other tributes was forming, and I eyed the line with obvious curiosity.

"This is the gauntlet," a male trainer announced, motioning to an obstacle-like course of platforms where the trainers in black-padded uniforms wove in and out. "Every tribute must pass through it. Tributes that volunteered to compete in the games will go first, then in order of District. You will each be timed."

I nodded, watching with a keen eye as the District One boy, Mani, as well as the District Nine boy, Gerald, took positions nearest the front. The coach raised a hand, then brought in down in a clean slice. "Go!"

At once, the boy from One was off, leaping with ease to the next three platforms, pausing only momentarily on the third before launching onwards. Just as his feet left the platform on number five, one of the trainers swung a padded club at his knees, knocking him off-balance. He collided with the sixth platform before crumbling to a heap at the base.

"Sixteen point eight seconds - incomplete round!" called out the trainer from where she stood at the head of the line. She turned to face the boy from Nine. "On your mark, get set, _go-"_

Like an arrow from a bow, the boy lurched forwards, using both his hands and feet to get him to the tops of the platforms. He wasn't quite as nimble as the boy from One, but he moved speedily, eyeing the trainers with a cold eye. When one brought the club up to strike him, he lashed out with a foot, knocking it from their wrist, and hauled himself to the top of the twelfth platform, where it began to slope downwards instead of up. He cleared the next ten with ease before four of the trainers converged on him, crashing the clubs onto his shoulders and back. He crumpled before he reached the twenty-third.

"Forty nine point two seconds - incomplete round!" the trainer called out again. Gerald was back on his feet, joining the Mani off to the side, cursing beneath his breath. I made a mental note to avoid him in the arena.

The next five tributes went much the same, but all failing before they reached the tenth platform; Gerald remained the champ at the Gauntlet. When it was my turn, I knew going into it I would fail, much like the others had. There were twenty-five platforms - one for each tribute going into the arena, and one for the Victor - and each of differing height. The tallest was right smack-dab in the center, number twelve, and was easily thrice my own height. A fall from that would surely hurt.

"District Four, correct?" the trainer asked as she reset her timer. I nodded at her in silent agreement, and she flashed me a look with pale blue-green eyes. _District Four eyes_. "Yeah, me too."

When the word 'go' left her lips, I shot off speedily, reaching for second platform, the third, the fourth, fifth...eighth, ninth. When a club crashed down on my shins, I collided heavily with the tenth platform, my fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surface. Another club collided again, and I cried out in pain as I dangled there for a moment before, helplessly, I slithered down the rest of the way to sit on the ground. I grunted, getting to my feet and joining the other tributes. I didn't hear my time.

"Good run, fish-face," sneered the boy from Two, Alan Johnson.

I plastered a sarcastic smile to my face. "Oh? You think so?" I asked innocently. "Wait...didn't I get, like, three further than you?"

Mani and the two from Three laughed at this, causing the boy to go red in the face. "You're dead, fish-breath. First on my list." _I don't doubt it._

Again, I shrugged, more aware of the fact of Gerald's eyes on me. It made me uncomfortable.

The only other tributes to make it past the ten mark were the boy from Five and both from Six. I was surprised when the girl, Jolie Bull, made it to eighteen - the third highest score - since Dart and Barker had claimed she would 'hardly make it past the initial Bloodbath'.

At the end of the day, we were escorted back to our flats by our Mentors. As I walked with Barker at my side, I was keenly aware of the District Nine boy, Gerald, and how he watched me with very enigmatic eyes. Instead of staking my claim in the games as someone not to count out, just yet, I felt as though I had painted a giant, blaringly red target on my back.

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**Author's Note: **_Hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to visit the poll on my page for the list of tributes. Your answers will dictate which Tribute goes first!_

_ALSO! Special thanks go to _RueThisDay _for her fantastic review (keep it up!) as well as _Crystal-Wolf-Guardian-967_ for her's (thank you!). Plus the people that favorited and/or followed: _Cashmere67, Tuuslar, RueThisDay_ and _Crystal-Wolf-Guardian-967! _Thank you all for your support! XXOO (in a non-creepy way)._

Kem


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